To Walk a Tightrope
by EchoResonance
Summary: Balance is a tricky thing, very hard to accomplish successfully in any given place. There is no place, however, that makes it more difficult than Camelot, where hundreds of eyes are watching your every move.
1. Hasty Escape

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly down on the cheerful dwelling of Camelot, whose cobblestone walks and alleys were alive with the hum of the mid-morning market. People walked together down the paths, some arm in arm and some laden with packages and bushels of food and other supplies. Children laughed and played, their delighted cries bouncing through the town and drifting up through the open windows of the palace. The Lady Morgana sat at her window, brushing through her thick, dark hair until it was gleaming in the golden sunlight. Guinevere was on her way to Morgana's chambers with a hot plate of breakfast, smiling serenely and humming quietly to herself as she made her way. Gaius bustled about his crowded workshop, busily grinding and mixing herbs with his gnarled but practiced fingers. Even Uther was out and about, overseeing the training of new knights and instructing those who needed it. Everyone's spirits were high, encouraged by the lovely weather. Everyone...save a certain moody prince.

Prince Arthur of Camelot was lying on his soft, magnificent four-poster bed, staring morosely out at the sunny weather as though the closed window had done him some great personal wrong. His arms were folded sulkily beneath his chin, and he hadn't even bothered to change out of his dressing gown. He had been in an exceptionally foul mood all morning, and though he was loathe to admit it to anyone, let alone himself, he knew the reason why. Most people would sack their servants without a second thought if they caused a row, but not Arthur. Oh, no, not Arthur. Arthur reduced himself to sulking in his bedchambers, thoroughly irked but not doing anything at all to solve the problem.

He gave a grumbling sigh and rolled onto his back, moving his arms beneath his head so as to better admire the stone ceiling above him from which was perching a small, thin-legged spider. He now glared at it in much the same way he had scowled at the sunshine outside, though it was not the spider's fault that he felt so out of sorts. It shouldn't bother him so much, he told himself, but he couldn't acknowledge his own words.

The slamming of his chamber doors the previous night was still echoing in the darkest recesses of Arthur's mind, and nothing he did could shake it. He had been left, fuming and entirely alone, to watch a lowly servant storm out of his room with all the righteous fury of a man of a much higher status, his slender figure whipping out of sight around the heavy wooden door even as Arthur shouted obscenities. It had taken hours for Arthur to cool his head-and several cups of strong wine-but when at last the prince had calmed down, he felt curiously guilty, though he tried very hard to justify his behavior. It was hardly his fault that Merlin…Well, it wasn't his fault.

The young man shook his head like a dog dispelling water, but it did nothing to ease his mind or clear his conscience. He felt laden with guilt presently, and he felt sure that nothing he did would shake it, short of confronting Merlin about the problem. This presented a slight problem though, since they hadn't exactly parted on agreeable terms and the dark-haired boy would likely be coldly courteous this morning. Also, it was hard to confront anybody when they weren't where they should be.

With a groan he swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up, raking a hand through his shaggy hair and glancing automatically at the door, though it was long past the point when he would have expected anyone to come in. Merlin was rarely on time, but he was never _this_ late. Resigning himself to the fact that he would have to wash and dress alone today, Arthur went to his wardrobe. He would go to Gaius and have words with him about Merlin, and if Merlin was there, he would get an earful. Shirking his responsibilities as Arthur's servant just because he was pouting would hardly be tolerated.

The irony of this statement was lost on the prince, who fumbled around clumsily, attempting to put on his chain mail and then realizing with embarrassment that he was trying to put it on over his dressing gown. Fervently thankful that there was no one there to witness this, he pulled his night clothes off and tossed them into a pile, retrieving instead a fresh pair of trousers and a clean, dark blue tunic, pulling on both with little struggle. This was the end of the easy part, however, because chain mail had never been an easy task even when there was another person cynching it up, and try as he might, Arthur could not fix his own chain mail. Angry and frustrated at his own ineptitude, the prince gave up on wearing the chain mail and chucked it across the room, scowling. Merlin would definitely pay for putting him through _that_ ordeal, just for him to fail anyway.

Arthur yanked on his boots with such ferocity that, if they had been of any lesser quality, the leather would have ripped. These however, being fit for royalty, just protested loudly at their mistreatment. When Arthur was sufficiently dressed, he strode out of his room, dragging his dreary cloud of gloom along with him for all to see. Nobody dared speak to him, recognizing one of his rare but infamous fits of wrath, and everybody silently pitied the poor boy that was undoubtedly about to suffer said wrath. It was no secret that, while Arthur may be fond of his manservant, the boy was hardly kind to him; he was something of an outlet for Arthur, and not the healthy kind. The prince was known to take out his anger on the young man, who had little choice but to grit his teeth and deal with it in silence.

Not a single person spoke to him as he stalked up to Gaius' quarters, but when he flung the door open violently, the old physician did reprimand him for scaring the man.

"Prince Arthur!" he exclaimed, clapping a hand to his thin chest. "You should know better than to startle me. What if I had been treating somebody's wounds?"

"Sorry Gaius," said Arthur curtly, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "I'm looking for my useless servant. Where is he?"

Gaius went back to what he had been doing as he spoke, and his answer did not please the prince.

"He isn't here, Sire."

"What do you mean, he's not here?" Arthur demanded furiously.

"I mean exactly that, Sire," said Gaius patiently, ceaselessly grinding the poultice in his old hands. "Merlin is not here."

"Well then where is he?!"

Gaius gave him a warning look that made him fall silent, though what the prince had to fear from a court physician was anybody's guess. There was just something about his eyes, sharp in spite of his old age and their lopsided appearance, that made one feel like he was staring straight through you into your soul. Arthur swallowed and gestured silently for Gaius to speak.

"He said he wanted to visit his mother," the old man said, looking back at his poultice to inspect its consistency. "I thought he would have told you."

"Well he didn't," Arthur seethed. "Thank you, Gaius. I will be on my way now."

He turned to go, but the white-haired man called him back

"Arthur?"

"Yes, Gaius?"

The physician waited until the prince turned to face him again, and the look on his face was very stern. When he set aside the poultice, Arthur swallowed convulsively.

"What happened last night?" he asked seriously. Arthur feigned ignorance, but from the way all heat left his face, he doubted it was convincing.

"Last night?" he echoed. "I-I don't know what you mean."

Gaius looked at him shrewdly. "Do not lie to me, young man."

Arthur pressed his lips together.

"Nothing happened," he said, hoping he sounded persuasive. "We just had a little disagreement, that's all."

"Little, was it?" Gaius wondered. "I wonder…"

"Gaius, if you have finished your aged rambling," Arthur said with an attempt at his usual pomp. "I need to go track down my runaway servant."

With that, the young prince strode out of the room, a wrathful air settling over him. Go off to see his mother without even consulting his master? Oh, Merlin was in for it this time. The idiot who never did what he was told had reached new heights of mediocrity, running off and leaving everybody behind to wonder where he was. If Arthur hadn't gone to Gaius, he might have thought something was seriously wrong with the boy! How many other people had he made worried about him when they tried and failed to get a hold of him? Arthur ground his teeth furiously.

So wrapped up was Arthur in his dark mood that he didn't see the servant girl until he walked straight into her, and in his foul temper he told her off, not even bothering to notice who it was.

"Excuse me?" she said venomously. "Most people apologize when they knock into someone, unless I'm very much mistaken."

Arthur blinked, and realized with a start that it was Guinevere. Face flaming embarrassedly, he lowered his head.

"My apologies, Guinevere," he said stiffly. "I did not realize that it was you."

"It shouldn't have to be me for you to show some manners," she replied coolly. "You can be such a royal brat, I'll have you know."

A vein in Arthur's temple ticked, but he did not bother with a retort. He had a long ride to prepare for, and he was wasting his time arguing with the Lady Morgana's handservant.

"Excuse me," he said, and started to leave, but Guinevere caught his elbow in a grip only a blacksmith's daughter could have.

"What's got you all riled up?" she demanded. "You look like you've just killed a man."

"I am about to," Arthur growled. She gave him a startled look, and he elaborated. "Merlin. He is dead when I get a hold of him."

"What has he done now?" she wondered. "Did he forget to do something before he left?"

Arthur rounded on her.

"He told you too?!" he exclaimed furiously. Far from being impressed, she raised her eyebrows at his temper.

"Well of course he did," she scoffed. "What, did he not tell you? Or were you just too absorbed in yourself to notice when he did?"

Arthur glowered at her, and her eyebrows rose higher.

"He didn't tell you," she said, surprised. "But why wouldn't he-"

"Damn good question. Now will you let me go? I need to pack so I can go after him."

She didn't release him, though, and gave him a shrewd look.

"What did you do?" she said after a moment.

"What?" Arthur repeated, the fire in his eyes sputtering and dying.

"I said, what did you do?" Guinevere repeated herself sharply. "Merlin would never have just up and left without telling you."

"Well, he did this time," said Arthur, avoiding her hard stare.

"Hm…" she murmured, and finally let his arm go.

"Finished interrogating me?" Arthur asked, coldly courteous. "I would have thrown most servants in the stocks if they spoke to me the way you two do."

Guinevere laughed. "It's not a new thing for Merlin, though," she pointed out. His lips twitched.

"True enough," he conceded.

"I can pack you some food, if you'd like," Guinevere offered. "You'll want to be heading out soon, I imagine."

Arthur nodded. "That would be very helpful. Thank you, Guinevere."

She bowed her head, and then made for the kitchens. His mood lightened a little, Arthur made haste for his bedchambers. He'd have to get out without his father noticing; Uther would never let him leave to search for a _servant_.

The prince ran a hand over his hair as he returned to his room and dug a shoulder bag out of his wardrobe. The leather was curiously poor quality, and he realized with a start that it wasn't even his. How Merlin's bag had gotten into his wardrobe was anyone's guess, but he supposed it would serve the purpose. He flipped it open and rummaged through it curiously, but it was empty save an old, musty book. Dismissing this as one of Gaius' old herbal encyclopedias, he left it in the bag and rolled up a soft gray tunic with a pair of dark trousers, stuffing them unceremoniously over the old binding.

He wanted to be quick, and ideally he would be avoiding trouble, so he left his unpolished armor lying in its corner and didn't even bother trying the chain mail again. He would want to take his sword, so he strapped his belt on and sheathed the blade at his hip. A cloak hung over the foot of his bed, and he picked it up and swung it around his neck. The dark blue fabric flowed like water down over his shoulders, and it fastened comfortably below his chin.

Moments later, a quiet knock sounded on his door, and he swung it open quickly, coming face to face with Guinevere. She handed him a generous parcel of bread and cheese along with a full wineskin, smiling widely. He gave her a suspicious look.

"Why are you smiling like that?" he wondered, peering at the parcel like he expected the cheese to rear up and bite him. "What did you do to the food?"

"Nothing," Guinevere said, slightly affronted. "I just think it's sweet, that's all."

"What's sweet?" he said sharply. "Did you drink the wine?"

"Of course not!" she snapped, tossing the wineskin into his arms. "I meant Merlin. It's obvious you're worried about him, and I think that's sweet."

"I am not _worried_," Arthur denied at once. "I'm just racked off that he went off without even bothering to ask me. The stables are a mess, and my armor still needs cleaning!"

Guinevere shook her head slightly, her smile remaining.

"Whatever you say, my lord," she sighed, amused.

"I should think so," he retorted as he packed the parcel of food and drink into the shoulder bag. Guinevere noticed this.

"Is that Merlin's bag?" she wondered. "What are you doing with it?"

Arthur glanced down. "He left it here. It was just the first one I grabbed. Is there a problem?"

"No, no," she said quickly, her smile growing. "No problem. Well, I had best be off. Lady Morgana wants me to draw her bath."

"See you later, then," Arthur said absently, shouldering the satchel and pulling up his hood.

"See you," she acknowledged. "And try to bring Merlin back in one piece, won't you?"

Arthur smirked. "I suppose we'll see about that."

Guinevere rolled her eyes and left the room, not bothering with the door because she knew that he would be leaving shortly after her. He did a quick double check to make sure that he had everything he needed, and when he was satisfied that he could make it to Ealdor on the provisions that he had, he set out, making sure to lock up his room when he left. The knights didn't ask questions-they never did-and he rode out to the woods on his ebony horse, making all haste for Ealdor and that stupid, stupid servant.


	2. A Mother's Wisdom

The forest was alive with birdsong and the scurrying of small animals through the underbrush, but Arthur could not find it in himself to appreciate the scenery, urging his horse past a couple of squirrels scuffling for an acorn and startling a small doe out of the bushes. He spurred it on, cantering between the trees as though fleeing a fire and making a thunderous racket all the while. The horse's hooves hammered against the well-trodden forest floor, and Arthur was made glad that he was not out hunting, for there would be no sneaking up on the game in this manner.

His fingers were gripping the reins so tightly that they were starting to ache, but he dared not loosen his grip lest the horse's speed lost him. He couldn't really justify his haste when he knew that his servant was in no immediate danger, unless one counted the half-mad villagers that his mother lived with, but neither could he find it in himself to slow down. He wasn't worried, he insisted to himself, just peeved, but even angry, most men would not be in such a rush.

He squinted against the sunlight pouring through the canopy of green leaves, wishing that a cloud might cover the sun's highest peak just so that it did not blind him so. The running of a stream could be heard nearby, and Arthur's horse slowed down suddenly, nearly throwing him over its head, cursing. As it was, he slid down the side until his left leg was just barely hooked over its sleek back, as though he had taken a good blow in a tourney. He scrambled to recover his seat, shouting obscenities at the horse, but it ignored him, tossing its mane imperiously and making its leisurely way toward the sound of running water.

"You can have water when we get to Ealdor!" Arthur snapped at the horse, but of course it took no notice.

He was about to steer it away, whatever it took, when he realized that the horses probably hadn't been fed or watered since dawn, when Merlin supposedly left. With Merlin gone, there was no one else to take care of them. Groaning his misfortune, Arthur dismounted the horse and let it drink while he moped on a nearby rock. He hadn't realized that, without Merlin, even the horses would be affected. He hadn't realized either that, in the grand scheme of things, he relied so heavily on the useless servant that clearly wasn't so useless after all.

"Since when did I start needing someone so pathetic?" he wondered grumpily out loud, raking a gloved hand through his hair.

The horse flicked its tail as though in acknowledgement, though it did not turn to look at him. He looked at it, nonplussed, as though it represented all the things that were confusing him so much presently, and it flicked its tail again, giving a soft whinny.

"This is ridiculous," Arthur shook his head. "It isn't like you even know what I'm saying. Why am I talking to you?"

The horse snorted and looked away from the stream, fixing him with its wide brown gaze. There was no hint of a deeper understanding in its eyes, none at all, and yet he felt as though there was something that it would say, if it had the ability. Of course, this was absolutely ridiculous. Horses couldn't talk, and even if they could, what would one want to say to him?

"If you're done drinking, I would like to be off again," said Arthur sourly. The horse tossed his head but returned to Arthur's side, nudging him with its large black nose. He took a hold of the reins, but before he could mount the creature, it stomped its feet and tried to move away. He frowned and jerked on its bridle. It snuffled, stomped its feet again, and once more tried to lead him into the trees.

"Ealdor is _that _way," Arthur snapped, forcing the horse's head around. It snorted, and yet again pawed at the ground, but it didn't move. "That's better."

He climbed up onto the horse's back and urged it on, though it was reluctant to pay heed.

* * *

Arthur reached the ridge overlooking the small village where Merlin grew up just as the sun was about to touch the horizon, bathing the valley in an eerie red glow. Arthur waited for a moment on that ridge, gathering himself so that he would neither kill his servant on sight nor hug him, and then snapped the horse's reins, making all haste down to the village beneath him. The horse galloped down the slope with the such speed that the wind stole Arthur's hood away and whipped through his hair and stung his eyes until he could scarcely see, but he did not slow down until he reached the end of the slope; then only so that he would not race straight through the small village.

People cried out greetings as they recognized him at the gates, and a young boy saw him and raced into a nearby house, shouting the entire way. Arthur slid from his horse and was met by several embraces and more claps on his shoulder as the villagers came to see what all the fuss was about.

"Prince Arffur!" bellowed a pot-bellied man with a wide, semi-toothless grin. "How 'ave ye been?"

"How are things in Camelot?" asked a young woman, blushing fiercely.

"Good to see ya again, Arthur," said an older woman he vaguely recognized. He craned his neck to see over the crowd, neglecting to answer even a single inquiry as he searched for that familiar dark head.

He didn't see Merlin, but he did watch as that little boy returned from the small stone cottage with a dark-haired woman, holding her hand and pointing excitedly at the small crowd gathered around the prince and his horse. She smiled when she saw the prince and raised a weather-beaten hand in greeting. He waved in return, and tried to gracefully escape the suffocating congregation so that he could speak with her.

"Arthur," she greeted warmly, smiling as though he were her own son. "It's so good to see you."

"Hunith," he responded, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her fingers respectfully.

"Come inside," she said, holding open the door. "It cools off at night this time of the year."

Arthur bowed his head and followed her inside, his stomach twisting, but when he looked around, there was not a soul to be seen aside from himself and Merlin's mother. Confused, he turned to question her, but she was already at her stove with her back to him, stirring something in a pot.

"Tell me," she said as she cooked. "How have you been?"

"Ah…" said Arthur distractedly, looking around still as though he expected his servant to pop out of a cupboard or from behind the moth-eaten drapes. "Well...I have been…very well."

"That's always good to hear," she said cheerfully.

"How has the village been?" Arthur asked courteously.

"Oh, everything's been so much better since you helped us," she responded. "The villagers still talk about you all the time. They're ever so grateful for your help."

"Yes, I got that impression," he said dryly. "They sort of mauled me when I arrived."

She laughed.

"So what brings you back to Ealdor, Arthur?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

He straightened up, glad to have been given the chance to state his intention without appearing callous.

"Your son," he said, and his voice took on an edge he hadn't intended. "Merlin."

She frowned and turned to face him fully, concern creasing her lightly line brow.

"What's happened?" she asked fretfully. "Is he alright?"

Arthur frowned. "I should think so. He's well enough to ride a horse, in any case."

"A horse?" she echoed. "Where would he be riding a horse?"

In Arthur's place there sat a statue, one whose wide eyes were fixed on Hunith in unbelievable incredulity.

"...Here," he said, tone incredibly unsure. Hunith's frown deepened.

"Here?" she repeated. "Merlin hasn't come here. Is he not in Camelot?"

Arthur's heart plummeted past the soles of his feet and straight through the earth, leaving a hollow, fearful sensation in its wake. Understanding came to him with the force of a battering ram, and he saw it come in Hunith's eyes an instant later. Merlin wasn't there. Neither was Merlin in Camelot. If that was the case…

He must have been somewhere in the middle.

"Arthur, where is my son?" Hunith said quietly. Arthur shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. All of the blood had left his face, leaving him as pale as death itself, and this did very little to ease Hunith's mind. "Arthur, where is he? What happened?"

"Merlin," Arthur said slowly, fighting the urge to leave and search the woods for the boy this instant. "He left at first light this morning. Told some people that he was coming to visit you. I haven't seen him since last night."

"He hasn't been here," she fretted, looking fearfully at the floor. "What could have made him leave in such a hurry like that? It isn't like him to leave on his own."

Arthur swallowed and looked away. "I should-I should go out and look for him," he said, making to stand up. Hunith held out a hand, and though she had no authority over him, Arthur found himself frozen where he sat. Her piercing eyes, so like her son's, locked onto his gaze, trapping him despite how he longed to look anywhere else.

"Arthur, what's happened to my son?" she said quietly. "Why did he leave without even telling you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Hunith," said Arthur weakly. "I have no-"

"Don't lie to me, young man," she said commandingly, and Arthur heard for the first time the imperious tone of a mother. "Why did he go without you?"

Arthur found that there was a massive lump in his throat, one that he could scarcely make a sound past, but he tried anyway. His fingers trembled, and he folded them tightly in his lap so that the woman would not see his weakness.

"We-ah-had a fight," said Arthur offhandedly. "Last night. He stormed out afterward, and I guess he was still angry this morning."

"A fight?" she said in surprise. "It's not like Merlin to hold a grudge. What were you fighting about?"

Arthur opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, shut it again. His fingers shifted uneasily.

"About...about Will," the young man said, voice very nearly inaudible.

"Will," she repeated woodenly. "What could you have possibly had to fight about in regards to Will?"

"Well, I suppose it wasn't Will specifically," Arthur allowed. "Just...magic. Merlin was using his friend as an example that not all sorcerers were evil. I just tried to explain to him that it would have corrupted his friend, had there been more time."

Hunith's features tightened, and Arthur cursed himself. That would certainly be a touchy subject here, when Will was the boy that had given his life to save Arthur's, but the fact that he had magic could not be overlooked. Judging by the look in Merlin's mother's eyes, she did not agree.

"Arthur Pendragon," she said severely. "That boy saved your life. He died doing it. What right do you have to call him evil?"

"Hunith…" he said weakly.

"You have been influenced by your father's blind hatred; I understand that," Hunith said. "But surely you can make your own observations? His magic saved you. I wonder how many other times magic might have saved your life?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur scoffed. "I've never needed _magic_ to survive."

She gave him a dark look. "I wouldn't bet so much as a copper piece on that, young man. Magic is no more evil than a sword or a crown. It is the wielder, and not the object, that is corrupt. Great kingdoms have toppled when a corrupt man was given the power to make it happen. But even greater kingdoms were built by a good man given the same power. It's foolish to think that it is the tool that should take the blame."

"The sword is an entirely different thing!" Arthur argued, finding himself getting caught in the same dialogue that had been shared the previous night. "There is no special power in the sword like there is in magic, and it-"

"Enough," said Hunith sharply. Arthur stopped talking at once, and she gestured for him to stand. "Come with me, young man. There is something you should see."

Arthur looked dumbfounded that anyone, least of all a peasant, would interrupt him and order him around so brazenly, but then, this was Merlin's mother. He had to have learned it from someone. Recognizing that what Hunith said was not a suggestion, he rose to his feet and gestured wordlessly for her to lead the way. She gave him a curt nod and strode out of the shack as only an angry woman could. Arthur was reminded vividly of Morgana in one of her moods, and wondered if maybe there was less separating everyday townsfolk and those of noble blood than he had once thought.

Merlin's mother led him down the dirt road through the village, smiling and nodding as others greeted her, and Arthur did the same when he was acknowledged, though the smile came with more difficulty to he who was unaccustomed to wading through the cluttered street of the small village. Twice he nearly tripped over a stray chicken, and once a dog snapped at his ankles after he had stepped on its tail and woken it from its peaceful sleep. Hunith did not slow down or look back to see if he was following, but strode with long, sure strides past home after rickety home, deftly maneuvering around romping children that ran straight into Arthur's stomach.

"Hunith, where are you leading me?" Arthur demanded.

"You'll see," she responded cryptically. "Outside the village."

Lips pressed tightly together into a thin line, Arthur fell silent as he continued to follow the older woman, chafing at allowing himself to be ordered around. After several more greetings and another near-death-experience-by-stumble, they reached the edge of the town, and Arthur saw a square of land a few yards away that had been sectioned off by a roughly constructed wooden fence. It was to this section of land that Hunith led him, holding open the lopsided gate so that he may proceed her. Upon stepping past the wall, Arthur realized that they were in a graveyard; round stones rested on the ground, each about the same distance apart, and beneath them, mounds of earth rose slightly higher than the ground level. He frowned and looked back at Hunith, who was watching him sharply.

"Why did you bring me here?" Arthur asked, confused. She gestured at the small cemetery.

"Tell me which one of these graves is Will's."


	3. Equal In Death And In Life

"Excuse me?" Arthur said.

"Which of these graves is Will's?" Hunith asked, voice hard. "If magic makes a person so different from _normal_ people, surely you can tell me that?"

Arthur frowned at her, and glanced around at the rows of stones, none of which had writing upon them. Here and there, flowers that were half-dead themselves rested beneath the gray slabs, but nothing to indicate who was laid to rest where. Under Hunith's sharp gaze, Arthur began to walk between the graves, scrutinizing each one for some sign that evil was lying beneath the dirt, but no matter how hard or how long he stared, he could not find anything. Finally he ended up next to the grave that seemed most recent, the earth more discolored than the rest as though it had recently been turned, and he ventured an educated guess.

"This one."

He glanced over at Hunith, and there was a look in her gaze that was very nearly triumphant.

"Will lies here, Arthur," she said, and pointed to the grave nearest the gate, though still a good few yards away.

"Then who is here?" Arthur wondered.

"An old man," she answered. "He died just a few months ago in his sleep. It was his time."

Arthur looked at her in silence. What was this supposed to prove? Was it some sort of test, because if it was, he had clearly failed.

"You can't see any difference from grave to grave, can you?" Hunith said, her voice softening just a little. Arthur shook his head woodenly. "Nor from stone to stone?" He shook his head again. "Why is that, young man?"

"I don't know," he responded warily.

"Because," she said, and moved to kneel beside Will's grave, "in death, we are all just men. Our power, anything that makes us different from others, is all stripped away. We are all equal in the afterlife."

"That does not change what a man is while he is ali-" Arthur began.

"Arthur Pendragon," she interrupted fiercely. "You are a good man, but you are still ignorant. Was Gaius not a sorcerer once?"

"He was," Arthur acknowledged. "But he renounced magic and came back to the right side."

"Magic takes no sides," Hunith said gently. "And isn't that kind old man all the proof you need that magic itself is not enough to corrupt a man?"

Arthur had nothing to refute with. Hunith beckoned him to crouch beside her and he did so, watching her cautiously as though expecting her to reach out and grab him suddenly. She did not lash out at him, but rather took his gloved hands in hers and pressed them against the dirt above Will's head. Arthur did not want to touch the grave, it made him feel uneasy, but he did not pull away. A little bit of dirt crumbled beneath his gloves and slid down the gentle slope of the miniscule hillock.

"He was just a boy, Arthur," Hunith said. "He deserved none of the judgement that your father was predisposed to deliver. Just a boy."

He stared not at his hands but at Merlin's mother, whose face was earnest and almost pleading and whose brilliant eyes shone brightly. He swallowed convulsively.

"There are sorcerers out there who would give their lives to protect men like you," she continued. "Sorcerers who fight for good causes and for great men. I'm sure there's one watching over you as well, even if you don't know it."

Arthur hesitated, unsure what he would say when his lips parted.

"Even if…" he began. "Even if you're right-if there are good sorcerers out there-how could they be separated from the evil ones?"

Hunith smiled sadly.

"They can't be," she sighed. "Not anymore than traitorous knights can be weeded out before they commit treason. You have to trust your own judgement. Sorcerers are just people, Arthur, that's all. You judge them by the same rules to judge anyone else. They deserve that much."

There was a lump in Arthur's throat again, one that he found it difficult to swallow past, and he looked away from Hunith in embarrassment. Abruptly, his stomach growled, and his face burned with mortification.

"Come," she said briskly, climbing to her feet. "You're hungry, and you'll need a bed for the night."

Arthur followed her wordlessly, and together they left the graveyard, Arthur's skepticism following like a heavy cloud above their heads. He hadn't really taken into consideration what Hunith had said, and he was sure that she was aware of this, but he couldn't completely brush her words off either. Disjointed phrases bounced around his head as they walked, and they harassed him while he shared the bread and cheese that Gwen had packed with Hunith, and even penetrated his restless, uncomfortable sleep.

_Sorcerers who fight for good causes...Just a boy...All just men...Gaius a sorcerer…_

Arthur punched the lumpy pillow that Merlin's mother had given him and rolled over on the hard bed, trying to ignore the words that pricked his brain like needles.

_Magic takes no sides...traitorous knights…_

Arthur yawned and fisted his eyes furiously. He'd need an early start in the morning, but to do that he would need decent sleep as well.

_Just a boy...Just a boy…_

The prince was never quite sure if he had, in fact, dozed off, but if he had, those words had been echoing even within his deepest dreams, because they were still lodged in his mind when the moth-eaten drapes were yanked away from the windows of the shack.

"Rise and shine," said Hunith, and Arthur irritably recognized Merlin's morning greeting. "You'll want breakfast before you leave, I'm sure."

Arthur groaned unintelligibly and melted out of the so-called bed, wincing as his joints crackled and creaked as though he were a man of Gaius' age. Hunith spared him little sympathy, ushering him to his feet and pointing him to the table, where a chipped bowl held gray, lumpy porridge sat on the roughly hewn table.

"Eat. Quickly," the woman said. "I washed your cloak. You'll need to leave as soon as possible."

"That keen to get rid of me?" Arthur said wryly.

"I am very keen for you to find my son," Hunith corrected. Arthur's amusement was snuffed out, and he picked up the bowl and downed the porridge, screwing up his face automatically, but he scarcely tasted Hunith's idea of breakfast.

"You and Merlin have that in common," he grumbled, setting the bowl down and reaching for the cloak draped over the foot of the bed, which had indeed been freshly washed. "You love ordering me around. I would remind you that I am the crown prince of Camelot, but I fear that it would be a waste of breath."

"You know my son quite well," said Hunith with a wan smile. "Someone needs to keep you on your toes."

Arthur swung the heavy cloak around his shoulders, buckling it securely before hoisting Merlin's shoulder bag up. Hunith's eyes followed the bag, a frown creasing her brow.

"Is that Merlin's?" she wondered. Arthur glanced down automatically.

"Yes. He left it in my chambers-it was just the first one I grabbed," he explained.

"Was-was there anything inside it?" she asked hesitantly. Arthur shrugged.

"Just a musty old book," he answered. "Probably something from Gaius. I didn't bother checking it-I wouldn't understand any of it in any case."

Hunith pressed her lips together, then shook her head as though dispelling water from her ears and led him out of her home to where his horse had been tethered for the night. It tossed its mane when it saw him, and he grinned as he untied it from the termite-infested wooden fence, stroking its big nose softly. The saddle had been left on its back, so Arthur climbed up and fitted his feet into the stirrups, glancing down to find Hunith watching him with an anxious expression that he was quickly coming to link with Merlin.

"I will find him, Hunith," Arthur assured her.

"See that you do," she said sternly. Just as he was about to snap the reins, though, he felt her small hand on his knee. "And Arthur? Remember what I told you."

Arthur gave her an artificial smile that cracked across his face like pottery that had dried too quickly. He could promise to remember what she said, but he could make no such vows that he would consider it, for to do so would not only go against everything that Arthur had been raised on, but would also be akin to treason. She stepped away, and he kicked the horse's sides. They were off, galloping with the sound of thunder out of the village, whipping away as villagers called out farewells and good wishes. Arthur bent low over the steed, knowing that once they were in the forest they would be forced to slow down, or else risk running headlong into a tree, and wanting to be as quick as possible.

Honestly, the prince should have left the moment he realized that Merlin was not in the village. Instead he had waited and wasted precious time that he could have spent searching for his servant, time in which that boy might well have been in danger. But he couldn't search very effectively in the night, and neither could he callously turn away Hunith's graciousness. He would just have to scour the woods now, and hope that he found Merlin with all of his limbs still attached.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky, Arthur was sweating beneath his cloak, the horse had slowed to a trot, and Merlin had yet to be found. Arthur had spent the entire morning and the beginning of the afternoon searching under every rock and around every tree for any sign that his servant might be nearby, and he had come up empty-handed. The horse was exhausted, and so was he, and though it went against every fibre of his being, he knew the smartest option available to him was to return to Camelot. Neither he nor the horse could be out much longer, and in any case, Arthur had a horribly uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach, a nagging voice in the back of his mind that he could not silence no matter how hard he tried.

_He left because he wanted to get away from you_, it taunted him. _Why would he want you to find him now?_

Arthur tried with all his might to ignore it, to shut that voice out, but it would not give him even the slightest reprieve. It tortured him continuously, an invisible whispering in his ear that said that even if Arthur found him, Merlin would not return with him.

_He wanted to be shot of you. He doesn't want to see you. He'll just send you away, you know he will. He's never listened to you before._

What hurt Arthur even more was that there was another voice in his head, one very like his own, that would add to this whispering.

_Good riddance. He was useless as a servant anyway. Always challenging and questioning you. You're a _prince_, and he's a servant. He has no right to behave the way he does._

"He does what he thinks is right," Arthur said aloud, raking a gloved hand through his hair. "And he usually is right."

The horse beneath him tossed his head as if to agree, but then began to turn in the opposite direction from that in which Arthur was steering him. The prince scowled and jerked at the reins, causing the horse to stamp in irritation and then try to continue in that direction. Arthur dug his heels into the horse's sides and forced his head around.

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur demanded. "You've been behaving very odd ever since we set out yesterday!"

The horse stamped again and turned its head to look at Arthur, and the prince could have sworn it looked angry with him. He frowned, jerking at the reins for a third time, and the horse finally relented, clopping sullenly down the path that Arthur was trying to follow. Heart heavy, Arthur started for Camelot. Maybe Ser Leon could talk Merlin into returning to the castle, if he found the boy.

"I'll have to send out a search party immediately," Arthur sighed. "C'mon. The sooner we get to the castle, the sooner we can send them out."

He snapped the reins, and the horse picked up his pace to a cautious canter, daring to go no faster in the thick trees. He could only pray to the gods that Merlin could wait long enough for him to send out a party.


	4. Time Passes Slowly For He Who Waits

Arthur was pacing his chambers, too wound up to sleep and too anxious to be of any use to anyone. His footsteps were loud in his room, despite all of the noise outside that drifted through his window, open now should the sounds of the search party's return find their way through it. The perfectly ordinary sounds outside, the sounds of calm, everyday life continuing on made him sick and angry and horribly frustrated, though he knew he should be glad that his people were in good spirits. It didn't seem right that everything could go on so normally while Arthur was trapped in his chambers like a rat in a cage, just waiting to hear that his servant had been found.

"Damnit Merlin!" he shouted angrily at thin air, flinging himself onto his bed. "Can't you even be reliable enough to not disappear in the woods?"

He lay there the wrong way on his bed, his feet hanging off of one side while his head and arms dangled over the other, and wondered for the umpteenth time why he was so absorbed in finding this one servant. Merlin's position could be easily replaced-there were people in the town that would fight each other tooth and nail to be the prince's personal servant-and yet the thought made Arthur feel...wrong. It didn't help that, for some strange and unknowable reason, he was still consumed with guilt over the row that had led to Merlin's disappearance.

A knock on his door jerked Arthur's head up, his heart leaping hopefully as he scrambled to his feet, smoothing down his tunic until he was presentable. The door opened a moment later, but the person that poked their head in was not Merlin, and Arthur deflated slightly. Of course it wasn't Merlin. He would have heard the search party arrive. No, it was Morgana, and her pale eyes were cautious.

"What is it, Morgana?" Arthur sighed, turning away so that she would not see the disappointment on his face and picking up his sword. It was a habit of his; fiddling with the blade when he wished not to make direct eye contact.

She allowed herself in, but only half of her long, green velvet gown followed her, the train being left out in the hall. He would never understand why she wore such ridiculously long dresses, but he would not be the one to bring up his bemusement. Her thick hair was tied in a heavy plait behind her head, but wisps curled around her pale face.

"Arthur, I know you're worried," she began.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" he demanded, whipping around to glower at her. "I'm not worried about that idiot! I'm racked off that he just up and vanished. Now I've got no one to muck out my horses or repair my shield or polish my armor-"

"Arthur, shut up!" Morgana snapped. Startled, Arthur did as she said only because he had no quick refute. When she was sure he would remain quiet, Morgana continued. "It's alright. You're allowed to be worried about Merlin, you stupid prince. But you're not doing any good up here, holed in your bedchambers like you're some spoiled child. Granted, you are."

"I am not-"

"Why aren't you leading the search party for Merlin?" she interrupted his protest, and she sounded incredibly confused. "Usually you're the first one to go after him, so why not this time?"

"I was the first one!" Arthur argued. "I rode out to drag him from his mother's village as soon as Gaius told me that that was where he had gone! But he wasn't there, and I scoured the forest on my way back and found nothing!"

"And what, you just gave up?" Morgana scoffed. She did that a lot at him. "The great Arthur Pendragon sends out his knights because he is too _lazy_ to go himself."

"Don't you dare talk like that to me!" Arthur bellowed, advancing on her. "I am _not_ lazy! I do not use my knights to do my dirty work!"

"What do you call this, then?" Morgana demanded, and her own voice rose in anger, eyes flashing in a way that Arthur thought only a woman's could. "Pacing around your chambers while your knights search for your servant?"

Arthur opened his mouth to refute, and then closed it again without saying a word. There was a reason he wasn't with the search party, and while it was most certainly not the reason that Morgana had come up with, he wasn't sure it was something he should share. Callous at times he may be, but he felt it wrong to share the conversations that he and Merlin had, especially those that escalated into these petty fights. They were private conversations that Arthur felt weren't his right to speak of, and that was saying a lot since as the Crown Prince of Camelot, he had rights to pretty much anything he wanted.

"You can't even argue," Morgana said, tone caught between triumph and disgust. "He's your friend, Arthur. You should be out looking for him."

Arthur swallowed convulsively and crossed to his window, looking down at the sunny streets of the castle. His fingers flexed on the hilt of his sword, and Morgana thought that he looked almost ethereal in that instant. In the light of the sun, his tanned skin looked like beaten bronze, his blonde hair was set aglow by the warm yellow light from outside, and his eyes shone the brightest blue that she could ever have imagined, as though they were two brilliant sapphires lit from behind. He looked magnificent.

But then he spoke, and the illusion was broken by the small voice that left his lips, so un-Arthur-like that she had to replay it several times over in her mind before she came to the conclusion that it was still his.

"If I was out there, he would never show himself," he said quietly. "They are more likely to find him if I stay here."

"Arthur, you cannot really believe that," Morgana said incredulously, moving to his side.

He shrugged away the hand she set on his shoulder and strode back to his bed, sitting heavily on the soft mattress and for once not finding it in himself to enjoy the way he sank into it. It felt like it was trying to swallow him. He noticed irrelevantly that her train had finally managed to join them in the room, though it was wrapped around her ankles in such a way that she was like to trip over it.

"Arthur, Merlin would give his life for you!" Morgana exclaimed, turning to stare at the prince. "He trusts you more than anyone. How could you think that he would not show himself if he thought you needed him?"

"You don't understand," Arthur grumbled, flopping backwards and watching his sword sink into the thick covers. "I am definitely the last person he wants to see right now."

"Arthur, you are a world-class idiot," the woman spat at him. He lifted his head to stare at her incredulously. "If he's gone, it is because he thinks you don't need him. The only way to prove to him that you _do_ need him is to go out and look for him yourself! Sitting here moping will not bring Merlin back."

"What would you know about what Merlin thinks?" Arthur asked, but it was an empty question. He lay his head back down to admire the ceiling again, and he noted that the spider had gone.

"I know enough about Merlin to know that he would never do what you're doing now," she said emphatically. "Angry or not, scared or not, Merlin would never sit back and wait for someone else to find you if it were _you_ that went missing. Merlin would be out searching under every log, every rock for any trace of you. He would never forgive himself if he did not do everything in his power to find you. He would never act so pathetic."

"Have care how you speak to your prince," Arthur warned her, sitting up once more. "The king's ward or not, you should remember to whom you speak."

"Oh I do," she said coldly. "I'm speaking to a whiny little boy who would rather let others search for his friend than do it himself and hurt his precious ego. Just remember, Arthur; Merlin has saved your life a hundred times over. Every time something happens to you, _he_ is the one that fixes it. Remember that, while you wait here and do nothing, all in the name of your pride."

With that, she swept out of his chambers, flinging the door shut behind her so hard that it shook the wall fixtures and caused a bit of dust to fall from the ceiling. Arthur stared after her, his mouth slightly agape. Had he really just allowed that woman to speak to him in such a rude manner?

"Pain in the backside, she is," Arthur grumbled.

But… Was she right? About Merlin, undoubtedly, but about Arthur? Was he simply being foolish, lazy even, by sending the knights out to search for the servant without him? Was he only refusing to go out of pride, rather than because he thought Merlin would not show if he was there? Certainly he didn't want to put himself in the wrong, but then, at what cost was he willing to be right? If it lost him Merlin…

Arthur shook his head. It was no good dwelling on such things, and he definitely couldn't let Morgana see that what she said had actually had some impact on him. With a groan he turned onto his stomach, fingers playing with the hilt of his sword. The heat of the day made him feel uncomfortably lethargic, as though getting up was simply too much work, and his current state of mind certainly wasn't giving him any energy. Soon he felt his eyelids begin to droop, and he lay his head heavily on his arms.

When his eyes opened again, the sun was sinking, and it cast an angry red glow over everything, bleeding into his bedroom through the windows to stripe the wall like vicious wounds. He rubbed his eyes blearily and sat up. His first thought was that Merlin had forgotten to wake him, but then he remembered the events of that day, and his heart sank when Morgana's words came back to him as well. Arthur was about to rise-to do what? Even he didn't know-when the raucous noise of a small group of horses on pavement echoed through the open window. Metal clinked on metal, signaling the arrival of the armored knights. Arthur leapt to his feet in an instant, Morgana's words and his sword forgotten, and lunged for the window. Through it, he could see the square where his horsemen were all dismounting now, stained red in the sunset. He looked frantically for the tall, lanky figure of his servant, but was greatly disappointed when no such figure could be found standing among the knights.

The men, Arthur noticed, were curiously subdued. One turned to his horse and slid something from the saddle, bowing a little under the weight of said something at first but then straightening up and turning to the entryway. Arthur's stomach lurched when he caught a glimpse of the thing that the knight was holding. He only saw it for a moment, and then the other knights converged, hurrying inside, but it was more than enough time. A long, slender body, with a mop of dark brown hair that had bits of twig and leaf tangled in it, and a tattered, red neckerchief.


	5. Amazingly Small

Arthur took the steps three at a time on his way to the entry hall, his heart in his throat and his stomach left somewhere back in his room. That couldn't be Merlin. It couldn't be.

He burst into the hall just as the knights made to turn for the stairs. Upon seeing him, the knight that held the limp body went pale as the person in his arms. Arthur didn't pay him any attention, though, because now that he got a good look at the body, there was no denying its identity.

"Merlin!" he cried, aghast, and staggered forward, reaching out to touch the boy's long-fingered hand..

"Sire, he…" the knight said uncomfortably. Arthur understood without having to be told, though, because when he withdrew his fingers, they were spotted with scarlet. His tunic was torn and bloodied, hanging onto him by scraps and threads.

"Take him to Gaius," Arthur commanded. The knight hesitated. "_Now_!"

The knight straightened up, inclined his head, and then rushed off to the physician's quarters. Arthur followed close behind, and the other knights dispersed uneasily. The door to the old man's office of sorts was left ajar, and Arthur heard the man swear in shock when the knight kicked it in. That exclamation turned into a gasp as he saw what the fuss was about.

"_Merlin_," he breathed, his owl eyes widening in horror.

"He's hurt," Arthur panted as he came through the door. "Badly. He needs your help."

"Where should I put the boy, Gaius?" asked the knight. Gaius pointed at a mostly bare table, and the knight obediently set the unconscious boy down. He left without another word, understanding his role to be over for the time being, and left Arthur alone with Gaius, who began working immediately.

"What happened?" he asked Arthur as he rummaged around for herbs.

"I don't know," said Arthur truthfully. Gaius paused.

"You mean you were not the one to find him?" he said, surprised.

"No, I wasn't." The prince didn't sound keen to admit this, and indeed he wasn't keen at all. On the contrary, he was embarassed, if not down-right ashamed, that he had not been the one that recovered Merlin.

"Well, I suppose it hardly matters now," Gaius shrugged, returning to ransacking his stores. "We just need to help Merlin now that he's back, don't we?"

"Yes," Arthur agreed, glad that Gaius asked no further questions.

"Fetch me some water then," the man instructed, setting a great many dried herbs and remedies on the table next to Merlin and beginning to grind them together with a mortar and pestle.

Obediently, Arthur bowed his head and hurried to the tap, filling the bowl that Gaius wisely left sitting next to it at all times. When it was full to the brim, Arthur took it up and hurried back, slopping a little down his front in his haste. He set it down as the physician bent over Merlin and grasped the shredded remains of his tunic with gnarled fingers. Arthur barely had time to wonder what the old man was doing when he tore the fabric away from Merlin's torso, and the prince swore emphatically, feeling bile rise up in his throat as he fought not to look away. His servant's chest was ravaged, three parallel gashes running from his left shoulder to his right hip so deep that several layers of tissue were visible. Blood oozed thickly from the horrible wounds, and the skin flapped sickeningly around the edges. The prince had never seen such a revolting injury up close.

"What can I do?" he asked of Gaius, mortified when his voice broke. The physician, however, paid no heed to this.

"Find my sutures," Gaius replied, pointing. "In that chest over there. I'll have to stitch these wounds up after I've cleaned them."

"What, you're gonna sew his skin back together?" Arthur said, appalled. Gaius fixed him with a near-frantic gaze.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," he replied. "I need to close his wounds, Sire, or he will surely die. Now, do I need to repeat myself?"

Arthur shook his head, feeling any remaining blood leave his face so that he was most assuredly as pale as his dying servant. He stumbled over to the chest Gaius had indicated and flung it open, pawing through the contents for the man's hooked needle. Finding it was rather unpleasant, as it pricked his finger before he saw that it was stuck into a spool of thread, but nonetheless he grasped it in his hand and returned to the physician.

"Thank you, Arthur," he said, setting the needle aside for now.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Arthur asked impatiently. "Please, let me help."

"This isn't the time, Sire," said Gaius sternly. "Merlin has no room for error now."

"There must be something!" the prince exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table. He hated feeling helpless.

Gaius rounded on him. "If you are going to throw a tantrum like a spoiled child, do it in your own chambers," he reprimanded. "Or, if you still want to help me, you can fetch Gwen. She is accustomed to assisting me in these matters."

Arthur bowed his head and sprinted from the room, praying that Lady Morgana's servant was in the ward's chambers, or else there might not be time to find her. There were few servants out and about this late in the day, but the prince managed to avoid barreling into these few by a hair's breadth on his way to fetch Guinevere. He skidded to a halt outside Morgana's room, and his thunderous knocks echoed through the corridors and probably woke several nearby residents who had been settling in for sleep. he felt just the smallest bit of relief when the door opened and a dark young woman peered out peevishly.

"Arthur, what in the Devil are you-"

"It's Merlin," the prince panted. "He's hurt."

Guinevere's demeanor changed at once; she straightened her posture, and her face lost the irritated look that it so often adopted when the prince was concerned in favor of a steely determination. She turned to say something to the inside of the room that Arthur couldn't hear, and then a second woman peered out over Guinevere's head.

"Lead the way," said the taller woman.

Arthur knew that this was not the time to argue, so he didn't bother telling Morgana to stay put. He just took off again, trusting the girls to keep pace with him because he would not be slowing down until they reached Gaius' room again.

"What's happened?" said Morgana as they ran, holding her skirts so that they would not stumble her. "What's wrong with Merlin?"

"He's been injured," Arthur replied, breathing labored. "Some sort of wild animal, I guess. It's bad."

"He's still alive, though?" Guinevere checked.

"Barely," the prince corrected.

"Then we'll save him," she decided, and Arthur appreciated her faith, even though he wasn't sure he shared it.

They burst through the door in a panting mess, but Gaius didn't even flinch from cleaning Merlin's injuries with a wet cloth.

"Gwen, grind these together, will you?" he said without preamble. "I'll need them to dress his wounds.

Guinevere went to work immediately, but she tried to avoid looking at Merlin's injuries as she did so, afraid that what she saw might slow her down. Morgana was not so quick to assist. She stood stock-still in the doorway, her pale eyes fixed with horrified fascination on the still, bloody body. Both of her hands raised to cover her mouth, and her throat worked convulsively. Hesitantly, Arthur touched her shoulder.

"Morgana…" he began. She stiffened and whirled on him with incredible fury.

"This is your fault!" she cried, pointing an accusing finger at the prince. "You did this!"

"Morgana-" Arthur began in a pleading voice.

"Are you happy now?" she demanded, eyes brimming with tears. "Are you satisfied?! Merlin's dying so that you could leave your pride intact! Was it worth it? Was it worth his life, Arthur Pendragon? I know he is just a servant to you, but to Gwen and myself he is a friend, and he's dying thanks to you! His life is such an easy price for you to pay, isn't it?"

"Don't you dare-"

"You sure risk it often enough!" she continued, ignoring him. "Do you even care? Does it even matter to you that you did this to him?!"

Arthur had had enough. He was a disaster of suppressed emotions, fear and anger and guilt clawing at him from the inside, and he was walking a very fine line to keep himself under control. He was on the verge of a complete break down, and Morgana just didn't seem to appreciate what he might be going through himself.

"You think I wanted this?!" he roared. "Do you think I wanted any of this?! All the times he's risked his life for me-I never asked him to! He's lying there dying and there's not a damned thing I can do to help and it's driving me absolutely mad. You have no right to speak about Merlin like that-like he doesn't matter to me!"

Morgana was not so easily cowed.

"If he's so important to you, why did you leave him?" she demanded hotly. "You left him out there and sent your knights after him instead of going yourself! If you cared at _all_, you would have gone! So why did you do _nothing_?!"

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off by Gaius.

"Take your quarrel outside or shut your mouths!" he snapped. "Merlin is in grave danger and you two are squabbling like children."

Arthur and Morgana fell silent, shame washing over both of them as they realized how foolish they were behaving.

"That's better," Gaius congratulated. "Arthur, if you could fetch me some fresh water?"

"Yes, Gaius," he said meekly, receiving the bowl of reddened water and taking it out to the tap.

When he returned, Gwen had finished the salve that Gaius had assigned her and was carefully applying it to Merlin's injuries, Morgana was dabbing at Merlin's forehead with a damp cloth, and Gaius was waiting for the water. Arthur handed the bowl to the physician, who in turn poured a small measure into a second bowl, one that already had a dry mixture in it. He set the water aside and began to mix the powder into a thin tincture while Arthur watched, useless and frustrated that he was so.

Gaius finished his medicine and carefully applied it to Merlin's wounds over Gwen's earlier treatment. His fingers came back red, and though Arthur was more than accustomed to blood, he found that the sight of his servant's made him feel incredibly ill. When the medicine had all been applied, the old man set aside the bowl and took up the silk thread that Arthur had retrieved earlier and threaded it through the needle, biting it off with his teeth and tying the ends together.

"Morgana, hold the edges together," Gaius instructed. Morgana leaned over, a queasy expression crossing her face as she did what he asked. Arthur had to look away, but he could hear the sound of the thread sliding through Merlin's mangled chest, and it made him want to vomit all the more. He was sure that his face was a most unattractive shade of green, but he could not find it in himself to care.

It felt like hours had passed, though it had taken maybe fifteen minutes, when Gaius finished stitching up the final gash in the boy's thin, pale chest. The physician slumped back in his chair, and Morgana and Gwen both let out heavy sighs, releasing tension in their shoulders they hadn't realized had been there. Arthur swallowed convulsively.

"Arthur," said Gwen quietly, causing him to look reluctantly around. "Help me bandage him, will you?"

He nodded and moved to her side, feeling as though his body was made of lead while he carefully lifted Merlin's torso off the table so that Gwen could reach underneath him with the bandages. Arthur had never realized how thin Merlin was, how small despite his height, but the prince could hold him up without any effort on his part. This made him nervous, because any amount of blood loss would be incredibly unforgiving to a boy his size. Gwen seemed able to read his mind.

"He's so small, isn't he?" she said as she tied off the cloth at his left shoulder.

Arthur didn't answer, instead looking down at Merlin's ashen face with guilt rending at his chest. His fingers tightened on the boy's bony shoulder as he bowed his head, wishing suddenly that he was alone so that nobody else could see his weakness. A hand touched his shoulder, but he shook it off, not wanting anyone's pity.

"Arthur, lay him back down," said Gaius. "Morgana, hold his mouth open."

Obediently, Arthur gently laid his servant back on the table and stepped back. Gaius approached with the tonic, and Morgana plugged the boy's nose and held his jaw open so that the physician could administer the medicine. The liquid trickled into Merlin's mouth, and Gaius stroked his throat to induce swallowing. When the tincture had been finished, everyone stepped away.

Merlin didn't look any different, but then there was no way to produce an immediate effect. He was pale as death, his hair sticking to his sweating forehead. Red was already spotting the white bandages.

"That's all we can do, I'm afraid," said Gaius softly. "You all should get some rest."


	6. The Medicine Man

Morgana and Gwen left quietly after casting concerned looks at Arthur, but the prince lingered, his sapphire eyes on Merlin. Gaius began to clean up the aftermath of the emergency treatment, entirely unaware that the young man was still present as he stacked the bowls and replaced half-used bottles of herbs to their shelves. It was only when he turned to gather the papers that had been knocked over to make room for Merlin that the old man realized with a little start that he was not quite as alone in the room as he had believed.

"Sire," he said, clutching at the front of his robes with a gnarled hand. "I thought you had left with the girls."

"I want to stay with him," Arthur said hoarsely, surprisingly not only Gaius but himself as well. He couldn't recall making any sort of conscious decision to do such a thing, but once he said it, he felt that it was nevertheless a true statement. He didn't want to leave Merlin alone, not when he was in such a state, and most certainly not when it was _his_, Arthur's, fault. If Arthur hadn't upset him by condemning his old friend, Merlin would never have gone out alone in the first place, and then he had taken his sweet time looking for the serving boy, loitering around in his village while Merlin was no doubt watering the forest floor with his blood.

"Sire…" said Gaius hesitantly. "You should get some rest. You have had a long few days. There is nothing more you can do for Merlin now."

"I don't want to leave him alone," the prince insisted stubbornly, glancing up at the other man. The physician's scraggly white hair was in complete disarray, but it was so close to how it normally was that there was little point in acknowledging the disaster.

"I will be with him, Sire," Gaius promised. "He won't be alone. Go get some rest, please. I'm sure someone can find you a temporary servant until Merlin has recovered."

"He will recover, then?" Arthur said hopefully.

"The wounds are deep," said Gaius hesitantly. "It will take some time, but yes, I do think that with a lot of rest, he should be able to make a full recovery."

Gaius put a lot of emphasis on the word _rest_, and Arthur found himself bowing his head with chagrin at the obvious implication that he would not be allowed to work Merlin into the ground for a while. Gaius smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"Return to your chambers for the night, Arthur," he said, not unkindly. "I will send for you if there is any change."

Arthur heaved a great sigh, looking back down at the young man in question, and then nodded to Gaius. He turned to leave.

"Oh, Sire," Gaius said hastily. "Before you leave, would you be so kind as to help me move Merlin to his bed?"

"Of course," Arthur agreed readily.

He moved to stand beside the table and leaned over it, very carefully sliding his arms beneath Merlin's slender body and lifting him up. Again he reveled at how light the young man was as he held him against his chest. The servant's left arm hung listlessly at his side, and his head lolled against the prince's shoulder, but other than the limp and unconscious movements of a man being moved without his knowledge, he did not stir. Arthur cautiously took him up the small set of stairs to what everyone called his bedroom, though it was incredibly barren of any of the comforts that made Arthur's chambers liveable. He sat Merlin down on what passed for a bed, being mindful of catching the bandages on anything, and pulled away.

"Thank you, Sire," said Gaius from the main room.

Arthur said nothing, but left Merlin on his bed, looking for all the world as though he was only sleeping but for the bloody cloth wrapped around his torso. When he stepped back into Gaius' study, the old physician was bustling around again, clearing up more of the mess.

"You should rest, too," Arthur noted.

"Oh, I think I'll have plenty of rest once I am dead, Sire," said Gaius dryly. "In the mean time, I must keep my space livable."

Arthur gave a weak smile. "Good night, Gaius," he said heavily.

"Good night, Sire," the man replied. "Try to get some sleep."

Arthur didn't reply, and he left without another word, very sure that on this night, sleep would never reach him, would probably not even come close. The door closed with loud finality behind him as he entered the narrow corridor, and a thin breeze from nowhere breathed down the hall, causing gooseflesh to erupt down his arms and neck. Arthur shivered and began walking, the heels of his boots clicking loudly through empty passageways.

If there had been few people out and about in the castle the previous morning, the halls were positively barren of life tonight. Everyone had already retired to their chambers, save the night watchmen, and Arthur's elongated shadow danced quite alone along the walls, cast there by the flickering of torches in brackets. Where he passed windows, he did not glance out, but caught out of his peripheral the sight of a black velvet sky scattered with silver stars, and the vastness of it all made him feel even more alone. There was never just one set of footsteps when he walked down a corridor, never just one shadow on the floor or walls. Merlin was always at his shoulder, his feet just slightly out of step with Arthur and an endless flood of meaningless chatter assaulting the prince's ears until he whipped around and told his useless servant to _shut up_. Merlin was always there. Always.

Arthur sighed and ran a hand wearily over his face. There was no use worrying now. Merlin had been found, wounded yes but alive, and he had received the best possible treatment that could be given to him in the whole of Camelot. In all likelihood he would make a full recovery and would be bouncing after Arthur like a lost puppy again in no time, talking his ears off and tripping over his own feet. The prince supposed that he should just enjoy the quiet while it lasted, but it was too heavy a quiet, too oppressive. It was the weight of guilt, of knowing that even though Merlin would probably be alright, it was his fault that the boy had been hurt in the first place. There was also fear; fear that Merlin wouldn't have forgiven him yet when he woke up, fear that Merlin would blame him as he blamed himself, and more than anything, fear that Merlin _would_ forgive him the way he always did. He needed the boy to be angry with him, needed him to feel that Arthur had done something wrong, otherwise the apologies hanging on Arthur's lips would mean nothing. Even more than all of that, though, was that Arthur felt he _deserved_ it. He deserved Merlin's anger, his blame, his pain. Though he couldn't take all that Hunith had told him to heart, it was true that he had been wrong to be so unkind as to call Merlin's oldest friend inherently evil because of something that he had been born with.

It was only when Arthur walked right past the doors to his chambers that the prince returned to himself, doubling back so that he could unlock the doors and slip inside. It was very dark in his chambers, and a reprimand was on his lips before he reminded himself that Merlin had hardly been able to light the fireplace and candles ahead of him. With a sigh, he made his way by moonlight to his bedside, stripping off his maroon doublet and kicking his boots beneath his bed. His socks peeled off and were tossed with the doublet into the basket of dirty laundry. Merlin would have a lot to do once he was well, Arthur noted. Still dressed in his trousers and tunic, the prince collapsed onto his bed, feeling inexplicably exhausted and altogether too weary to finish undressing himself. He turned onto his side and hugged a pillow beneath him, tucking it beneath his chin like a young child might.

"Too hot…" he grumbled.

This wasn't really the case; Arthur's chambers were usually warmed by a cheerfully crackling fire in the hearth, and once that was put out, he was safely beneath the covers of his magnificent bed. However, the mind plays funny little tricks on a person as full of worry as he, and he needed a reason with which to justify the sweat that lingered on his brow. He rolled over to look out the windows, the pillow still held against his chest as he gazed up at the thousands of stars glittering against the midnight sky.

When he had been smaller and the world had been kinder, Arthur had asked his father what those bright lights in the night sky were, and Uther had replied that they were the souls of all the greatest kings that had ever lived, floating high in the air to watch over their kingdoms forever and ever. Would Uther go there when he died, and Arthur? Of course the king had told him yes, but Arthur knew now that he had simply been entertaining a child's dreaming. The truly great kings were in Avalon, a place of eternal summer, and Arthur wondered if either he or his father could possibly be accepted into that wondrous place when they departed the world of man.

Merlin wouldn't go to Avalon when he died. The realization was like a blow to Arthur's midsection. He never thought that Merlin would be separated from him, had grown used to that constant presence, and though Merlin had very nearly died this day, he would live, and the prince thought the matter done with. He hadn't given any thought that he wouldn't be able to rest with Merlin serving him in the afterlife. He felt oddly berefit at the thought.

Aggravated by his train of thought, Arthur flung his pillow at the wall; it slid down and hit a chair, setting it tetering haphazardly. A muffled _thump_ sounded, and Arthur squinted to see what had been knocked over. A messenger bag had fallen, its flap falling open to release the contents. Arthur rubbed his eyes and looked for what might have fallen out. There it was, lying maybe a foot or so away.

A book lay open on the floor.


	7. The Lies That Protected a Kingdom

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, laughter echoing in the streets outside, but no shred of cheer dared enter the crown prince's bed chambers. Arthur sat at his desk, a book open in front of him, and his face was pale as milk, all the color having drained from it over an hour ago and none having found its way back. His shaking fingers had long since stopped turning the yellowed pages of the old tome, resigning themselves to the fact that there would be nothing new or welcoming farther in. Truly, his eyes were not even seeing the pages anymore. They were looking into the past, into all of the seemingly incredible, impossible things that had happened, all of the miracles that Camelot had been given, and seeing them for the first time for what they were. Lies.

His nerves were so shot that, when his door was flung open, he leapt to his feet so fast that he knocked over his chair. Guinevere was in the doorway, eyes bright and chest heaving.

"Merlin's awake," she panted.

Arthur didn't know what to do or how to feel, but Guinevere did not notice his hesitation because she had already raced out again, most likely to return to the physician's quarters. He stood at his desk, staring out the doorway after her, past her, and on to where he knew the servant boy was laying, probably still bone white, but wearing that stupid grin off his face. The servant boy who wasn't a servant boy. The prince swallowed thickly, glanced down at the book, and then slammed it shut, stuffing it unceremoniously into the messenger bag from which it had fallen. Not bothering to right his upended chair, he strode out of his chambers, the door swinging shut loudly behind him.

People he passed in the corridors called greetings, and he answered them mechanically, not even sure what he was saying but sure that it was idle and useless chatter. The heels of his boots clicked on the stone floor as they had the previous night, but they did not echo amidst all the other noise caused in the late morning castle bustle. The bag was clutched in his hands, his grip so tight that his knuckles threatened to break clean through the skin, and he almost wished they would. The pain would be a welcome distraction.

However, no wish of pain made the jaunt to Gaius' quarters any shorter, and he found himself at the partially open door without remembering how he got there at all. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then pushed his way into the room only to find it empty. Voices came from the side room, and Arthur gazed at the floorspace between himself and those steps, wondering if the distance would somehow grow so that he never had to reach that room, never have to look in and see someone other than that stupid, clumsy oaf of a servant that had no special talents at all. The gods granted him no such luxury-apparently they were fresh out of mercy today-and with what felt like a single step he was at the top of the set of stairs.

The door was open. From the doorway Arthur could see Guinevere and Morgana sitting at the side of the rickety old bed, smiling gently while the servant girl leaned over and dabbed at the patient's forehead with a damp cloth. Gaius stood at the foot of the bed, smiling and murmuring something too quiet for Arthur to hear. Everyone looked around when Arthur finally managed the courage to enter the stuffy room, smiling in the relieved way that some people could. Arthur tried not to see the beaming smile on the pale servant's face from the bed, but it was a hard thing to miss, especially since only the previous night Arthur had realized how much he missed that big, stupid grin.

"You're awake," said Arthur, awkwardly courteous.

Merlin's smile faltered slightly.

"Very observant, you are," the brunette noted dryly.

Arthur pressed his lips together, then looked at the others. "Could you give us a moment?"

Gwen and Morgana exchanged a look. "Yes, of course," said the serving girl.

"Uther wanted to see me anyway," Morgana added, rising to her feet and sweeping gracefully out, Gwen hurrying behind her. Both were smiling.

"Gaius?" Arthur prompted when the old man didn't move. He gave a little jump as though startled, and then chuckled.

"Yes, Sire," he bowed his head and shuffled out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur turned back to Merlin.

"Is that my bag?" said the boy before the prince could speak.

"You left it in my chambers," Arthur replied, feeling bile rise up in his throat.

"Sorry," said the boy with an embarrassed grin.

"You know, it's funny," said the blonde young man, as though Merlin hadn't spoken.

"What's...funny?" Merlin wondered, watching as his master fiddled with the leather satchel in his hands, toying with the opening.

"It's funny how you can think you know someone," Arthur said, swallowing past the lump of ice that was blocking his airway. "But you're so wrong it's pathetic."

"Arthur?" said Merlin uneasily. "What're you going on about?"

"You can trust a person absolutely, and in the blink of an eye, your faith in them can be just...shattered, and you realize that you know nothing about them at all. You never did."

"Arthur, I have no idea what you're talking about," Merlin said, looking concerned. Arthur scowled and thrust his hand into the bag, his fingers closing with vicious anger on the worn leather binding. He remembered leaving it that night, and waking up to find it sitting seductively in that same exact spot the next morning. Thinking that maybe it might have some way to get Merlin back on his feet, Arthur decided to have a quick look at the pages. What he found was something entirely different, and much less welcome.

When the book left the confines of the bag to be brandished like a weapon at Merlin, the little color the boy had regained drained away.

"I'm talking about _this_, Merlin!" Arthur shouted. "A book of sorcery!"

"What-what's that have to do with me?" Merlin said weakly.

"Don't play stupid with me! It was in your bag!" Arthur snarled. "Would you mind telling me _why_? Just this once, why don't you tell me the truth?"

"Arthur, I never lied to y-"

"You're lying now!" Arthur bellowed, and in his fit of rage he did what he normally did: he flung the nearest object at the subject of his displeasure. In this case, the nearest object was the heavy book in his hands, and the subject of his displeasure was the stupid, lying git in the rickety old bed. It sailed through the air with all of Arthur's strength behind it, and crashed with a painful-sounding _fwump!_ into Merlin's thin chest, knocking him flat on his back. He didn't sit up, possibly not wanting to have to look Arthur in the eyes.

"A book of spells, Merlin!" Arthur roared. "A book of magic! The same one that you have been accused of owning several times already! You were always found innocent, though. Did you use your magic to condemn those men? Did you use it to send innocent people to their deaths so that you could live? Well? Answer me, damn you!"

Arthur was now pacing back and forth, his wrath expanding until it threatened to make the room burst with its hateful energy. Magic. His own servant, a sorcerer!

Alarmed by the racket, Gaius rushed back into the room, the door banging against the wall with the force he had used to open it. He didn't even look at Arthur; he went straight to Merlin's side and checked the boy's pulse in his wrist.

"He's a bloody sorcerer, Gaius!" Arthur bellowed. "Get away from him!"

"He needs a physician, Sire," said Gaius calmly. "He's in no state to be hurting someone even if he wanted to."

Arthur stared at the man, horror dawning over him in another crushing wave.

"You knew." It wasn't a question. "You _knew_!"

"Indeed," Gaius answered, removing the heavy tome from Merlin's chest. "I gave him this book."

"You-He-" Arthur spluttered. Then he rounded on Merlin, who was still not sitting upright. "Is there anyone in this castle that hasn't lied to me?! I trusted you, you ass, and you're-"

"You can shout all you want," said Gaius, and his voice grew frigid. "He can't hear you."

Arthur whirled on the physician, but the man scarcely blinked.

"And why the hell not?" he demanded. Gaius fixed him with a cold, calculating stare.

"He's fainted."

The prince froze. Only his lips seemed able to move. "Fainted?"

Gaius nodded.

"And why the hell would he have fainted?"

The white-haired man raised an eyebrow.

"You and your men have fainted many times while I treated your wounds," he said. "The human mind can only take so much pain before it shuts off. Merlin was already hurting, and from the looks of it, you threw a rather heavy book at his wounds. Better men than he would have fainted from that."

Suddenly, Arthur's mouth was inexplicably dry, and he found it impossible to swallow. Had he done that? He looked down at his hands as though expecting someone else's fingers to wiggle back at him, because surely _he _would never hurt Merlin so badly. Sure, maybe he would clot him on the head if he did something stupid or throw pots and vases at his head, but those were all in good jest, when Merlin was in pristine condition, or as near pristine as he could be. He would never throw such an object right at the boy, knowing he was near-mortally wounded and not caring in the slightest.

Yet those fingers were his. Those hands were his. They could still feel the phantom weight of the book pressing against his palms, could feel his skin tingling guiltily. He curled his fingers into fists. He shouldn't have anything to feel guilty for. His servant had been lying to him for years, hiding the fact that he had magic and was therefore just as bad as every other sorcerer that they had ever had to chase down.

"Sire," said Gaius heavily. "Merlin has saved your life more times than you could possibly know. He's been protecting you with his magic, and the whole of Camelot as well. If he has at any time felt any ill will toward you, well, I'll eat my bed."

Arthur scowled at him.

"What sorcerer uses magic to protect people?" the prince demanded. "Sorcerers care only for themselves. They are selfish and evil and Merlin is one!"

"Some, perhaps," Gaius acknowledged. "But would a selfish man serve you as diligently as Merlin has done? Would an evil man take all of the abuse you dole out and never do anything to retaliate? Would a horrible, nasty man take care of you the way that Merlin has?"

Arthur curled and uncurled his fists.

"Sire, sorcerers are not inherently evil. Not anymore than knights are inherently good. It is the soul of a man that decides such things, and not the power which he wields. Sorcery has saved you many times, Sire, and it will save you many more times in your lifetime. It's only thanks to that boy that you are alive."

"I don't need him!" Arthur spat. "I don't need someone who's been lying to me since I met him! I can take care of myself!"

He whipped around to leave, but Gaius called after him and he paused.

"Lying, perhaps. But only so that you would not kill him unfairly, the way your father has killed so many. If he thought he could tell you and you would take it like a level-headed man, he would have in an instant, Sire."

"That doesn't…" Arthur said, finding his voice rough and barely audible. He cleared his throat. "That doesn't change the fact that he has lied to me."

"No, I suppose not," Gaius sighed. "But remember, he has also been protecting you."

Arthur had nothing left that he could say, so he strode from the room, hands still tingling, that phantom book still weighing him down.


	8. Every Man Is Worth The Same

Prince Arthur tried to be a functioning member of the castle for the rest of the day. He went to his knights' training sessions, attempted to read some documents his father had given him, and went out to the training grounds on his own time to release some of his pent-up energy. Nothing helped, and when he was disarmed by the newest knight in front of the entire company, he retired to his bedchambers to sulk, humiliated and ashamed. Beaten by a green boy. He had to get himself together, and quickly before his father noticed, but every time he thought he might be back to normal, his hands would tingle again, and Gaius' words would echo in the deepest recesses of his mind.

"Protecting me? My ass," Arthur grumbled, pacing around his room. "Only person he's been protecting is himself."

But…

Merlin had always been the first to say that magic may be involved when things went awry in Camelot, and what sorcerer would admit that his own people were in the wrong? He readily accepted the use of magic, and he always seemed to know exactly what to do and where to go in order to fix the problem. Arthur had chalked up his knowledge of the evil arts to Gaius' wisdom, but now he understood that Merlin could sense the magic, and he already had a grasp on what measures needed to be taken in order to counteract it. He'd always known what to do, and it was true that a series of lucky accidents had begun forming around Arthur whenever Merlin was nearby; men fighting him would trip suddenly, or lose their grips on their swords and send them flying. Fortuitous rustling would occur in bushes far off when they were being tracked by unwanted company, and poisons meant for Arthur's lips instead found Merlin's.

A door flew open, slamming into the wall and causing Arthur to leap a good several feet into the air. If he had been a cat, his hair would have stood on end. However, he was not a feline, and he whipped around, scowling every bit like the aggravated human prince he was. Guinevere was in his doorway again, panting like she had been earlier, but wearing an almost panicked expression.

"Arthur," she said, holding a stitch in her side. "The King-he wants-to see you."

"Now?" Arthur griped.

"Now," she confirmed. "Something-something about Merlin."

A lead weight dropped in Arthur's stomach, but he found his feet moving after Guinevere automatically. She gave him a puzzled look, but turned and began striding briskly down the corridor toward the Great Hall.

Arthur's mind was reeling. What was he going to do? His servant was a sorcerer. Sorcery was outlawed. He was bound by law and by status to report Merlin to the king. But could he do that? Why did the very thought make him ill? He was furious with the boy for lying to him, furious that he had magic, but did he want his servant to die for that lie? Gaius had spoken truly: Merlin bore nothing but goodwill toward him, though how that was possible was anybody's guess, and he had been an awfully huge help to Arthur many times before.

This brought up another question: Did Uther already know? Guinevere had said that his father wanted to see him, and it had something to do with Merlin. Did that mean that the king already knew the serving boy's true identity? Or was it something entirely different?

Arthur's palms were sweating profusely by the time they reached the doors to the Great Hall, and he found that the lump from the previous night had returned to his throat, making it impossible to swallow. Guinevere cast him a sympathetic look, then opened the doors for him.

The congregation in the hall was small, at least. A handful of knights stood to one side, and to the other...Arthur looked away. To the other, Merlin was standing, leaning heavily on Gaius' old shoulder, his skin the color of old ash. Uther was sitting imperiously on his throne, looking at his son with the detached gaze that came so easily to him. His face seemed to be made of stone.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" said Arthur as he came forward, taking pride in the fact that his voice did not waver.

Uther straightened up and gestured to his servant.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me, Arthur?" he said coldly. "Regarding your servant, I mean."

Arthur clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling as he glanced over at Merlin. He wished he hadn't. The boy's brilliant eyes were glazed over from the pain of his wounds, but they still communicated a clear message, one that Arthur could not pretend to misunderstand. _Please, don't tell them_. The crown prince looked back at his father, swallowed past that lump of ice, and shook his head.

"I don't think so, Sire," he said cooly. He couldn't do it. He couldn't turn Merlin in, he just couldn't. He owed a great deal to the young man, and he paid his debts.

Uther raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" he checked.

"I am," Arthur confirmed.

Uther sat back in his chair morosely.

"Ser Leon has informed me that your servant boy went missing two days ago," Uther said curtly. "And that you went looking for him."

Arthur blinked.

"I did," he said, standing up a little straighter.

"And you could not find him."

"That is true."

"And that you sent a party of knights out to search for him after your failure. Is that true?"

"It is."

Uther scowled. "You would weaken the forces of Camelot to search for a lowly servant? Don't you understand yet that Camelot must be at full strength? We are teetering on the brink of war with the sorcerers, Arthur!"

The prince did not flinch, even when his father's voice rose to a roar.

"Every life that lives within these walls has equal worth, Father," he said calmly. "I would not let Merlin die out there, no matter what."

"He is a servant, Arthur, easily replaced," Uther snapped.

"Yet if he was a knight, you would have sent a search party out yourself," Arthur noted. "Every man, woman, and child in Camelot is valuable, and I would not let a single one die just because they do not wear a knight's armor or carry a knight's sword."

"You are a fool, Prince Arthur," the king growled. "When will you learn that your beliefs cannot come before the safety of the kingdom? Whatever you _feel_ for servants like _him_, you cannot let them interfere with the protection of Camelot!"

"The people of Camelot are my friends," said Arthur strongly. "And the servants like _him_ are as well. I will never let a man die if I know I can save him. Every man deserves to be protected."

Uther scowled. "Perhaps I should find you a new servant, then," he said angrily. "One that you would not risk the kingdom for."

"I just told you," sighed Arthur. "It does not matter what man or woman you give me. I will protect them all. The people of Camelot deserve that much."

Uther ran a hand over his lined face, and then waved his son away.

"There is no getting through to you," he groaned. "Leave me, and know that if you ever do something so foolish again, there will be serious repercussions."

Arthur bowed deeply. "Yes, my king."

"This council is dismissed."

Leon and the other knights-all of whom Arthur recognized as belonging to Merlin's search party-left first, Arthur walking closely behind them. He could feel Merlin's eyes boring holes into the back of his head, but this was not the place nor was it the time to talk about his foolish act of selflessness.

* * *

Arthur was sitting on a stool in Gaius' study when the old man returned, nearly dragging Merlin behind him. That short little trip had clearly put too much strain on the young man, who was white as a sheet and only half conscious. However tired he was, though, when he saw Arthur his face split into a wide grin.

"Thank you, Arthur," he said, voice tremulous. Arthur gave him an empty look, and Merlin's face fell.

"I just lied to my father's face to protect a sorcerer," Arthur said bluntly. "Don't thank me for that."

"Sire, you did not lie," said Gaius gently.

"I didn't tell him the truth. It's all the same," the prince snapped.

The room was silent. Then-

"I haven't changed, Arthur."

The prince looked around. Merlin had fixed him with an earnest stare, his brilliant eyes shining fiercely. It was true that he certainly looked no different. Same dark hair, same large ears, same goofy smile. But now Arthur saw something else, something like a shadow sitting in the same place as Merlin, like a transparent ghost, and it wore a cruel smile, and its eyes glowed a poisonous yellow. He looked away.

"I'm still the same person," Merlin stressed when Arthur appeared not to be listening. "I'm still me."

"And who is that, exactly?" Arthur wondered. "Who are you, Merlin? Because clearly I don't know."

Merlin frowned, but the prince still wasn't looking at him. He was looking down at his hands, fingers clasped tightly together.

"I'm your servant," Merlin said simply. "And you're an idiot."

Arthur looked around at that, his eyes sparking with a hint of fire. Merlin smirked, and Arthur realized that the boy had been looking for such a reaction. His lips twitched before he could stop them.

"I polish your armor and take care of your horses and carry all of your junk because you don't want to," Merlin continued, looking Arthur full in the face. "I sharpen your sword and clean your chambers. I cook for you, mend your clothes for you, and start a fire in the hearth when you whine about your room being cold.

"I treat your wounds, nearly die looking for answers when you piss off someone else with magic, and never leave your side. I say what no one else does, I challenge you, I tell you that you're wrong. I do the things you need, I tell you the things you need to hear, even though you throw things at me when I do."

Arthur's smile grew a little in spite of himself, and so did Merlin's.

"I'm your friend, Arthur," said the boy softly. "Just your friend. That is all I have ever been, and that isn't going to change anytime soon."

The prince glanced at Gaius, his smile lingering. The old man smiled himself, and then discreetly left them alone, saying something about taking Uther a potion for an old injury. When he was gone, Arthur turned to Merlin, solemn once more.

"So…" he said hesitantly.

"So?"

"Will."

Merlin blanched and said nothing.

"He wasn't a sorcerer." Not a question. Merlin shook his head anyway. "He didn't use magic. You did." Merlin nodded.

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He rose to his feet, and Merlin did the same automatically, but he rose too quickly, and all blood rushed from his face. Arthur caught him as he swayed, chuckling a little, then hoisted him over his shoulder.

"H-hey!" Merlin protested, thumping Arthur on the back. "Put me down!"

"Can't have you falling over and cracking your skull now, can we?" Arthur snorted, and took him to his room.

"Ouch!" Merlin hissed when his head hit the doorframe.

"Oops. Sorry," said the prince, not sounding it in the least. Merlin scowled grumpily, but Arthur ignored his attitude, setting him very carefully on his bed. When he pulled back, the dark haired boy was pouting like a child, but Arthur ignored that.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur sighed, sitting in the wicker chair at his bedside. Merlin raised an eyebrow at Arthur in silence, and the blonde young man felt his ears burn as he realized the stupidity of the question. "Never mind."

Merlin watched him anxiously while Arthur tried to think of something else to say.

"Gaius."

"What about him?"

"He said he gave you that book. How long has he known?"

Merlin's mouth curled, amused. "Since I got here. I saved his life with it before we'd even met each other."

Arthur sighed. "Of course you did. Dare I ask how many times you've apparently saved me?"

Merlin grinned. "For the sake of your pride, probably not the best idea."

The prince groaned, and they lapsed back into silence. Merlin fiddled absent-mindedly with his neckerchief, and Arthur made due with looking down at his hands again.

"So what now?" asked Merlin.

Arthur glanced up. "Hm?"

"What now?" he repeated.

The prince blinked, and cast his gaze to Merlin's bedroom door. What now? Wasn't that the million-dragon question? Without really thinking about the answer, Arthur opened his lips, and for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days, spoke first and agreed with his decision after.

"Now, you'll have to hide that book someplace safer than my chambers."


	9. Epilogue

"MERLIN!"

The dark-haired boy flinched and came running into his master's chambers. The prince was glowering not at him but at a corner of his room, where his armor sat, unpolished. It was the boy's first day back on full duty, and Arthur wasn't cutting him any slack.

"Didn't I tell you yesterday to have my armor polished?" the prince said, his tone deceptively calm.

"Yes, Sire," said Merlin, sensing the danger. "I was just on my way to do it when you told me to muck out the horses."

"Oh, so it's my fault," Arthur said, nodding. Merlin wasn't fooled, and began to back towards the door again. "Tell me, Merlin, am I working you too hard? Because, if I am, I'm sure someone would be more than willing to-"

"I'm quite alright, Sire," Merlin assured him, now eyeing the vase that sat innocently on the table in arm's reach of the angry prince.

"Oh, if you're alright, then after you've finished polishing my armor until it shines, I'm sure it wouldn't trouble you at all to mend the shields in the armory, sharpen my sword, fix the lances from the last tourney, and repair my riding boots. Or is that too much for you?"

He threw that last part in after seeing the dumbstruck look on his servant's face.

"No...No, I can do that," said the brunette grumpily. Then in an undertone, "Dollophead."

He didn't say it quietly enough. Arthur's fingers were around the neck of the vase, and then it was soaring through the air. Merlin reacted instinctively, his hands flying up in front of his face.

"Cheater," Arthur accused. The vase hung, suspended, about a yard from the boy's nose. Merlin, grinning hugely, went and took it into his hands, setting it on the table.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," he laughed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur wondered.

"Remember when we first met?"

"Of course. I tried to take your head off with a mace."

"But you couldn't."

Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but no sound came out right away. Merlin watched as understanding dawned in the crown prince's blue eyes, followed by incredulity.

"You cheated!" he exploded. "You used magic!"

"Obviously," Merlin laughed. "If I hadn't, you'd have killed me, and then you would've died later that night!"

Arthur scowled and advanced. Recognizing his cue, Merlin leapt backwards just in time to avoid his friend's curled fingers.

"I'll go see to those shields now," Merlin called, laughing as he barrelled down the corridor.

"MERLIN!" Arthur roared behind him as he stood in his doorway.

Some things never changed.


End file.
